


Make Me Feel

by sundaystyle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Clintasha - Freeform, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Natasha-centric, Pre-Avengers (2012), Sad, Slow Build, Strike Team Delta, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:05:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2067480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sundaystyle/pseuds/sundaystyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She used to guide herself into being a machine, perfection came with the lack of humanity. He made her feel human, he made her feel like a woman. He made her feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uneasy

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic for Camp NaNoWriMo, but failed to finish it due to my busy schedule. I got the idea from looking at a list of human feelings from some therapy related article. I wanted to follow each feeling and the challenge was to follow the list of feelings and continue the story. I don't know how good it is, and as an ESL person there might be some mistakes. I sincerely hope you'll give this fic a chance and leave a review- so I can fix and become better, and hopefully write even more as time goes xx. Hope you enjoy it!

**Prologue**

_You need to trust me._

The sole of her feet hurt. She could feel the muscles at the back of her legs burning, uncomfortable. She wanted to stop, give up, and sit down. She was being followed by the fire, faster than the oxygen she inhales, further than what her eyes can see. At the back of her mind she imagined what would happen if she finally stopped. Her legs would stop burning from inside out and catch the fire. Would it be any more or less painful than the torture she had to endure every day? 

A needle in a nerve, for each fault. 

The concrete was cold underneath her. If she closed her eyes tight enough she could see the red. Oh, red. For some people, it was the colour of passion. For some, it was the colour of grief. For her, it was the colour of disguise. And now it was the colour of freedom. It will envelop her and take her away from the hands of metal, a prison which she was entrapped in by her own mind. 

“…ry”

_What?_

“Come on. Hurry! Take my hand!”

 

When people are asked what their favourite stories are, the answers usually rely on the character. Fairy tales might be a popular group, many people dream of them since their youth, believe in the beauty of a happy ending. Occasionally some people will refer to a rarely known story about an indie artist meeting their true love just a second before they were about to give everything up. Those people, now they believe that there is a return from even the worst. Even if you hit rock bottom, they believe you can turn around the hourglass and start over.

Then there’s Natalia. 

 

The unfamiliar voice was still at the back of her head and it took her a few minutes until she realized the impatient, annoyed voice actually had a body to go with it as well. She opened her eyes at a flash of second, scanning the area milliseconds before she locked her gaze with …

“We have no time, you need to trust me, take my hand!”

So she did.


	2. Nervous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His fingers fired the order on her death and protected her the same. 
> 
> Why?

The sudden shift in the air caused her to take in a deep breath, almost tears in the corners of her eyes as her body was relieved in the fresh source of air, a light breeze freezing the drops of sweat at the back of her neck. She felt embraced by the suit she was wearing, black against the white of her skin, glued by the heat she was saved from.  
 _  
Oh,  
Right.  
_  
She didn’t know the guy currently perched in front of her, staring at her like he could see through all her masks of ice. Melted by the fire that, if her calculations were correct, caused by his calloused fingers. She’d seen him in the shadows of the ceiling, shifting cautiously as she made her way through the tunnel. She’d seen his eyes focus on her before, behind a curtain of a cloud, a fog of unnatural causes just before the fire. 

His fingers fired the order on her death and protected her the same. 

Why?

He made no sense. In her books there were groups of humans categorized, all in different branches. She knew how to read her target, put them in the right category, decrypt and solve, and act accordingly. But he made no sense. His eyes were of a colour she’s once known as to trigger comfort. A pool of blue and green. It should have been warm, for someone he’s just saved, but she knew the sparks of intelligence burning the cold gaze behind them. 

It makes her feel captured, even without any metal bands around her wrists. She could break free, and possibly a few bones, if she tried. But there’s a mix of feelings pooling under her skin that she wants to find out. And a pool of questions clouding her will to escape.

Imagine the ticking of time, a metronome of life, the death of night and birth of day waiting their turn. She felt the numbness of her muscles, aching for some release to move while she noticed he was sitting still, slow blinks, and the patience of a soldier. She felt trapped under his icy stare, glancing down at her hands that were still. She could swear she felt them trembling beneath her fingertips. There was something about him that made her feel at the edge. 

“Black Widow.”  
 _  
English.  
_  
She drew in a sharp breath, building up her walls around the box of her heart, her eyes accusing him of failing a well-kept secret which she never included him in on. A pass code of a brass lock to her situation, crumbling under false pretences. 

“Are you here to kill me?”   
_She could do English._

A bit heavier on the Russian accent, a little sharp around the R’s. His expression is the same mask he wears, few more years of experience than she’s known, but she notices the change in his eyes. He almost seems amused, which she has no subtitle for. This guy, she deletes the category she was starting to put him in, is like no one else she’s ever encountered before. 

“I was.”

She was confident in her English enough to know that he meant that in a past tense, but she had to do a double take. 

“Was?” She squinted her eyes as if that would help her see though him easier. He wasn’t uncomfortable under her questioning rays, and she felt no threatening vibes coming off of him. Except she could tell that he was ready for a fight- if she decides to put up one. 

“I’m not going to hurt you.” 

It was funny considering she was already hurt, and she could pinpoint the exact location of every wound on her body without checking. None of them were lethal, but each of them hurt in a different way, zapping a tolerable energy wave of pain through her veins around her body. She moved in secrets, she moved in silence, yet she could tell now by the muscles in his arms and callouses on his hands that he had already hurt her. 

None of them were lethal.

She avoided the whipping voices in the air, with years of training, to a familiar tune by Chopin. Blind to the sound of death, he must have extraordinary skills to have spot and attack her. He was good. She was…

She would say better, but the vague look in his eyes and the playful smirk he had adorned made her pause.

“I have a proposition to make.”

And that was the beginning.


	3. Tense

There was a common misunderstanding that only some people had layers. The truth is that all people had many layers to their core personality, but some of them had thin ones while some were covered up in many wrapping papers until it’s completely hiding what originally was there. Natalia never made the mistake of underestimating the people she met, she couldn’t afford to. The golden key to success, she always reminded herself, is after you check every other door of possibility. It was the first rule. Always doubt, always be aware and never take any form of freedom for granted.

Her layers have been stripped down into transparency, after her core was stripped white and melted into metal. She was a chameleon, painted by a personality the job calls for. 

His layers, on the other hand… 

Some of them were painted black, only a shadow of what’s beneath them. Some of them were locked away, made no sense to her without the information which would shine the light on it. He wasn’t perfect, far from it. But then again, the definition of ‘Perfect’ varied for many. She stared at him from her seated position right next to him. His posture suggested many things. The man they came to visit was not a stranger, a familiar and maybe friendly figure- he didn’t seem to worry about her presence, and being the cause of it. She had already been through many security procedures, many tests, many interrogative questions, and some more tests until they finally allowed her to walk out alive.

Has it been only days?

Or was it weeks? Maybe longer, maybe less.

She was familiar to grey walls. Black walls. Walls of stone. They were easy on the eye, calmed her down. She was kept inside a room of white, burning the back of her eyes even though she’d refuse to complain about it. There were no windows, not that she cared about the lack of sky. 

_She never knew how much she liked the clouds._

Natalia was dangerous to them, she could guess as much. So who was the guy next to her and what did he mean for this black & white facility? 

“Barton.”

_So that’s his name._

She was taken aback at the sudden change in the guy, sitting straight up and standing, coming between her smaller posture and another man in suits. Dark blue, she thought, it suits him. 

A familiar figure, she could tell, but now she wasn’t so sure about ‘friendly’. Maybe ‘Barton’ really had been as insane as she first imagined him to be, making decisions and thinking afterwards. It’s a surprise that he’s survived this long in their line of work with that type of attitude. 

A familiar figure, she was sure, and a superior one. But she didn’t rule out friendly yet, because now that the man’s eyes trailed over to where she was sitting, he could see the questions clouding his gaze. And orange of worry.

Worry is an orange, Natalia decided on that a long time ago. It made sense in her head and she stuck by it.

Some words were hushed and some were determined and she couldn’t catch all of them, because _Americans_. They spoke fast and rolled their words and merged them into another. She felt annoyance bubbling in her chest, the two men talked about her, as if she wasn’t there, and she could only catch the fleeting meanings. ‘Barton’, she familiarized herself with the name, insisted that she is valuable. While ‘sir’ with sometimes a sarcastic, annoyed tone – Barton had a temper – had trouble believing that she wasn’t secretly plotting the downfall of USA. She considered briefly making a run for it, scanning every possible exit and probable wounds. But this was her chance, a chance for her to leave the red behind and get used to walls of white. 

And suddenly she noticed a desperate burning in her chest. She wanted them to trust her. 

“Give me a chance.” 

She cut their argument, sliced into silence. Despite her soft tone, her words were as keen as her mother tongue, leaving no doubt behind the sentiment. Barton seemed proud while the other guy seemed wary. 

All people are layered and some know how to control them. Layers and walls, most spies knew when to put one up and when to push them down. Natalia was an expert on layers, putting one on another, transforming into any character easily. But she also knew the ways to let others see who she is. 

There were three main options you could choose, if you thought of yourself as a mechanic invention. The first option is the first you’d think of. Let down your walls. Be honest. Be yourself. Give them what they want. Show your emotions. Emotions are the bait of reality. The second option is to put on a layer of a broken wall. Destroy your defences only to trick your companion into giving in what you want. Fake emotions. If you’re good, you’ll win the gold fish. 

The third one was involuntary. She has far too good control for that to happen. 

A trained eye with a thick file of her past would too easily see through her. And she knew that the people she was dealing with were no amateurs.

“One chance.” She got her answer too many seconds later. “And Barton, you’re with her.”


	4. Anxious

She could hear the aggressive sound of raindrops hitting against the window. The cabin they picked as a hideout was so worn out that she took a defensive stance each time the wind knocked on the wooden door. Barton had suggested they rest until the storm died out, they could leave with the first lights of morning. She simply followed him inside and found herself a corner to sit down, caring for her weapons, getting them ready for the mission.

She didn’t talk much, it wasn’t that she had nothing to say because she had books of words she wanted to scream, shout or spat. But she bit them down, into simple acts of obedience, talking only when necessary. Words revealed weaknesses. She wouldn’t admit it but she was afraid that if she talked too much, then they would misread her words into something she wasn’t. If she didn’t say anything, there’d be less chance for her to be misunderstood. 

Barton on the other hand, was her complete opposite. He had a scary resting face but she came to know that he fell into a smile quite easily, especially when he thought he caught something human in her. Or when she deadpanned, which often seemed the reaction he has been seeking from her. He didn’t seem to be affected by daily troubles. He seemed less confusing than the first time she’s seen him- but she still couldn’t put a finger on it, the purple aura that seemed to block his core.

“Are you afraid, Natalia?” He broke the silence that they cautiously kept for hours. 

She didn’t roll her eyes. She didn’t huff out a response. Natalia had been lying down on the hard floor, which creaked each time she moved even just slightly. The feeling against her skin made her remember her once home. She kept staring at the ceiling, trying to pick out the shadows and making a story of them. Cloud watching was only a second favourite to shadow watching.

Sometimes.

“I’m not.”

She could feel his eyes on her, stripping her layers but not her clothes, searching for the lie or the truth in her words. She didn’t know why he needed to know what she really thought. They only needed to be a team on the field. Yet every question of him seemed to be aimed at another target of her soul. She felt uneasy just by thinking that he might be as good at that as he was with real targets. 

_Don’t crush down my defences Barton, I don’t know what will become of me if you do._

“I am” he sighed from where he was sitting against a wall, across her. 

“Why?” She pushed herself off the floor, supporting her upper body on the sides of her arms, feeling the pattern of the wood beneath her cut into her skin. 

His eyes met hers. 

He didn’t say, and she didn’t ask again.

They will leave in the morning.


	5. Flustered

Do you know what panic feels like?

Is it a bubble growing as it takes the air in your lungs? Is it the hue of madness in your eyes when you scan everything around you, inching in closer as you stay still? Is the feeling of disbelief, suffocating you while you feel helpless to the scene in front of you? Is it knowing that you can’t reach to keep yourself alive, towards the only hand extended, seconds after it drops? 

Have you ever felt the panic rise?

When you’re on the field, you don’t see things as they are. There’s always a deeper threat hidden. You have to be cautious not to fall, not to make any sound. You see targets and escape routes, you think course of attack and ways of defence. When you’re on the field, you don’t have time to panic.

In a few years after their first mission together, Natalia will come to trust Barton more. In the bubble of their trust, they will transform into others. She will become a name that is similar but a person that is her own. Not someone who was meld into convenience but who made choices and favoured her own opinion. He will become a name that is younger than its counterpart, lively and sassy when life allows it. He will be her guide and in return, she’ll be his partner.

In a few years she will still refuse to admit that teams are more than just what they are on the field. She will refuse to admit that they are one of the best because he knows her more than just another agent, he can think the way she does. And vice-versa, she can follow his train of thought sometimes faster than he does.

In a few years she will watch his shadow from the corner of her eyes but for a completely different reason than the day they first met. She will feel safe under his gaze, watching her step, assuring her that he’s got her back – even though they both knew that she hardly needs it most of the time. But she does, and he does, and that’s why they work as a team.

In a few years she’ll feel the first wave of panic as a second shadow joins his. She’s too late to join in the fight, too far gone to risk jeopardizing the mission. As the panic starts gnawing the back of her mind, she keeps walking, locking her focus on the target. 

Do you know what panic is?

“It’s Schrödinger’s cat.” She would later confess to him. Smirking at his confused expression. 

And if she feels another type of panic rising in the bottom of her stomach, she doesn’t pay any attention to it. Locking away the reality that she only feels like this when the thought is attached to a name, which was once more foreign to her than any other.


	6. Insecure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “When did we stop fearing death?” he asked almost amused but she could hear the curiosity underlined. As if he was amazed at himself, for not being afraid to die. She humours him, thinking back to the time when she didn’t mind to die for the sake of a good fight. 
> 
> When kisses were deadly and touches were practice.
> 
> “When we stopped being afraid of the dark, I suppose.”

_“We built our lives ourselves, made the rules of survival based on our experiences. Trust no one, doubt everything and never hesitate. It’s a parallel world to the one you’re in, all hands drenched in red and all thoughts shadowed by black. In our world, no one is innocent. Deceive, lie and take what you came for.”_

_In a story never written, Natalia is old. Her hand is softer than ever, lifting over her bones with a pinch. She could trace the lines with her fingers, feel the years and unscarred wounds beneath her touch. In a story she’d never believe, she’s held onto the memories of a distant past, knives, guns and a pair of blue eyes._

_In a dream of an age she’d never reach, Natalia feels the burning of a gaze, pulling her away from her reality._

“Are you practicing your telepathy skills Barton?” She growled under her breath, keeping her eyes closed. She knew where he was from the sound of his breathing. He was close but not where she could reach. His stare had started to get to her, she just wanted to rest for a short bit.

Huh.

Since when was she comfortable resting with someone, closer to an enemy than anything else at that, also in the same room as her? 

Barton must have been thinking the same thing, she guessed, by the way the archer let out a relieved sigh and looked away. “The storm will die out soon. You should get ready.” 

_In a story never written, Natalia likes flowers. She makes a note of bringing another type of flower each week back home, proud of the way they look like they always belonged in her room. In this story Natalia helps things to survive, live and grow. In this story she likes to watch romantic movies, cover half her face with her palm to wipe out the tears at the sad parts before he catches her crying. In this story her feet calmly rests on a lap, hands rubbing her ankles almost absent-mindedly, and a pair of blue eyes switch from the TV to her face, mixed with hues of amusement and adoration._

_In a dream of reality she’d never fall for, Natalia feels the hit of cold against her face. The wind threw blades of ice which they sort of blocked with their hands shading their eyes._

“Where do you reckon they went?” She asked once they paused to look for clues, even though they both looked at the same scenery she knew that he saw a lot more than what her eyes could catch. He didn’t answer her and for a moment she almost wanted to huff. She wasn’t looking for attention but not being ignored would be nice- and wasn’t it him who was spewing all kinds of bullshit about being a team anyway? 

_In a story never written, he never lets her go._

Without a second glance her way Barton started walking further into the forest, more grey than green. She shivered with an instant dislike to the place, rushing her footsteps to take her place next to him, catching up with his fast strides. 

“I don’t like this place, gives me the creeps.” She muttered under her breath but she knew he could hear her. The childish voice at the back of her head frowned at the sudden realization that she will be ignored again but this time she heard the slight change in his breath, followed by his voice- softer and calmer than his usual. 

“Me too. This place doesn’t feel right…”

But neither of them wanted to give up and go back. Going back on this mission meant suicide for her and they both knew it. But considering this is a suicide mission on its own, was also an important point to consider. Natalia knew that they didn’t have an extraction team, they had no means of communication and Barton was far too careful for someone with a Plan B. 

_“There’s only Plan A, and that’s to survive. That was the first rule we made as a team. Do everything to survive, never rely on a Plan B. There usually is none.”_

_In a story that will be written far too many years than now, someone will note down a personal moment, never to make its debut in the books of history. In this story his shoulder bumps into her in a small hideout place as they wait for a clearing to make their way through the exit door. They have 10 minutes, hidden away from the world and prying eyes, where time melts and poison surrounds everywhere but._

_“Natalia,” he whispers and she almost rolls her eyes at his amazing sense of picking the worst time ever for these type of talks._

_“Barton?” She plays along anyway, she already owes him too many lives._

_“When did we stop fearing death?” he asked almost amused but she could hear the curiosity underlined. As if he was amazed at himself, for not being afraid to die. She humours him, thinking back to the time when she didn’t mind to die for the sake of a good fight._

_When kisses were deadly and touches were practice._

_“When we stopped being afraid of the dark, I suppose.”_

Security is overrated, Natalia concludes as they jump, rolling on the ground and feeling a sharp pain at the side of her back, immediately rescheduling to feel it afterwards.

“Barton?” 

“I’m okay. You?”

“Okay…” She breathed out, suddenly feeling relief shock through her system, simultaneously with the throbbing of her wounds. But she was sure that he was not any less hurt than she was.

Maybe they weren’t under any protection but that day she realized something that was far more important. Barton was an extremely good spy, the best marksman she’s ever seen, and a guy with a Plan A. And hell of a determination to follow it through.


	7. Angry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m only human Tasha, we come with expiration dates.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't like this chapter but since it was for nano, it was more about the challenge for me. :( I'll try to improve my writing. I don't think I could convey 'Anger' good enough this early in the story. Still, thank you for reading!

Their first mission together was pretty much like any firsts. Their second was not any different. The third was slightly better, but he wouldn’t grade it A+. While separately they’re the best at what they do, they mess up at simple tasks together, both used to only having one set of hands. There’s lack of coordination skills, and Natalia tends to do things her way head first. 

Barton taps the end of his pen on the empty report sheet, he’s done this a thousand times but never had to think this hard on the right words. He walked himself through the mission as a 3rd person’s point of view, following his steps and hers. He hated thinking too much on what he did right or wrong on missions, the past was the past and what mattered is that they finished the mission successfully and came back alive. However Coulson didn’t see it that way and neither did Hill or Fury. “I came, I saw, I killed” was not an appropriate report as Coulson once said. 

“Be careful, I think there are smoke detectors around.” He heard her mutter behind him. He was slightly taken aback, was he that deep in thought that he didn’t hear her sneak in or was she that good? It was probably the latter even though he didn’t want to admit it. He looked back from his shoulder, eyebrows furrowed at her words. She was already sitting down on the couch, legs on the table, crossed. “Aren’t you trying to set that thing on fire by your intense staring?”

“Ha ha.” Burton rolled his eyes as he looked back at the paper, unamused at her sense of humour. After a few seconds he dropped the pen on the table, stretching his arms before putting them on the back his neck, tilting his head back against her hands for support. “I’m tired. I don’t want to do this.”

“Do you want me to?” She offered instead, looking straight at him even though his eyes were closed. She knew his whole attention was on her by the way his head was tilted slightly left, towards where she was. 

“I think your handwriting might be a little prettier than mine, Natalia.”

“Natasha.” She corrected him, which took him by surprise. He felt the chair he was sitting on slightly move but he was quick to support it with his feet, not making a scene by falling off of it. “Natasha?” He inquired. “Mm. Natasha Romanoff. S.H.I.E.L.D Agent starting today.”

See, agents of S.H.I.E.L.D were proud of their ability to mask their feelings. It’s what they made them good spies. But Barton was one of the agents who claimed to be more of a soldier than a spy, and his shock was quite evident on his face. “You…” 

Natalia, now Natasha bit her lower lip, nervous. She didn’t know why she worried about his reaction but at the same time she knew it very well. He saved her life. He gave her a chance to be on the better side. He gave her a second chance to prove herself. He trusted her not to run, to make a better name of herself. She knew that if he seemed disappointed, or upset that she was finally accepted as a non-threat, into S.H.I.E.L.D as one of them, it would make her, well, upset. 

“I want to start a new page, Clint. I want to make good.” 

His eyes locked with hers and she could see that he was holding something back from her, or maybe she just couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes. So he put it in words.

“I’m proud of you, Natasha.” 

She felt the corners of her lips curve upwards but she turned her back to him, waving her hand. “Don’t get all sentimental and get back to your report Barton. I’ll see you tomorrow at the debriefing.” 

He scoffed after her, but couldn’t help the smile creeping on his face either. 

Behind the closed door, Natasha stopped holding her breath. She didn’t even realize she was holding it. As she took long steps back to the chambers she was given until she could afford a place on her own, she felt something else bubble up inside her thinking about her partner.

Clint Barton, code name Hawkeye. An ordinary man with no super powers other than hard work and earned specialties. A good heart, she could testify for it. Some kind of traumatic past, military habits, a loner. Hot blooded. Amazing skills with a bow and an arrow, or anything he could use to hit a target. Perfect eyesight. Not as good hearing, he might want to have it checked sometime. Handsome, well-built, intelligent. 

He pulled the strings around her heart, untying the knots around it, in his own way that Natasha hated that she couldn’t block it. She allowed it and it unleashed a different type of feeling through her veins. It made her clench her fists, sometimes wanting to punch his face. Especially when he adorned a little side smile at missions- when he suggested something and was right. Natasha was still not used to working as a group, but he made it look so easy, she was sure that she was the problem. 

Clinton ‘Francis’ Barton, his file read which she managed to hack into the computers to pull out. She had a feeling that Coulson let her, though, there was no way SHIELD wouldn’t be able to tell she was the bug in their computers, even though she was good. A past as dark as hers in some way, yet his soul was whiter than hers. It explained the faraway look in his eyes when he thought no one was watching. She doubted anyone else except her could catch it. Natasha wondered if he was also haunted by the ghosts of his bad choices, and was it the reason he extended a hand of help to her. 

When she was in her room, she dropped herself on the bed, staring at the ceiling, with a frown on her face. 

Clint Barton was more than what his file said he was, more than an ordinary man and Natasha, while it was none of her business, hated the way the world was to make a good man turn into what he is now.

The truth is that Natasha was always familiar with the feeling of rage. It’s a fuel. If you want to get a job done well, you give an order. If you want to get a job done perfectly, you make your agent suffer to the point they break into rage. Amplify their power with the burning. It’s one of the reasons why revenge stories always have a happy ending.

But if someone asks her many years later, was she ever angry at someone for personal reasons and not related to any mission, she would say yes. Once. Half a year after their meeting when Barton stares right into her eyes and says those words.

“I’m only human Tasha, we come with expiration dates.”

If someone asks her if she was ever angry for someone else’s sake, she’ll just stay silent and smile, because that’s a personal question and none of their business. But when they’re alone, she’ll glance and Clint and part of that anger will flash in her eyes again. 

There’s a good man who’s never done the good he was born to do. There’s a good man with no one left. A man who is only human with an expiration date. A man who would sacrifice himself for her life, every damn time. 

After their 3rd mission, Clint Barton wrote in a report that Natasha Romanoff does anything to complete the mission, even if it put herself on the risk. A side note from Agent Coulson made the remark which Clint Barton himself was not any different at first. After their 3rd mission, Clint Barton wrote that he would be honoured to be on the same team as Natasha Romanoff. Together with Agent Coulson they were assigned as Strike Team: Delta.

After their 20th mission, Clint Barton wrote in a report that Natasha Romanoff saved his life.

After their 21st mission, Clint Barton wrote in a report that Natasha Romanoff had no longer acted as an individual on the field, perfecting their teamwork.

If someone noticed a bruise on Agent Barton’s face that had not been filed as one from the mission between those two missions, they never mentioned it.


End file.
